Many years after the Royal Sisters stepped down...
Luna's eyes fluttered open to the grey light of early morning streaming in through the curtains of the bedroom. She breathed in; the winter air was cold and sharp in her nostrils, but the thick quilt over her barrel kept her warm. The contrast was... pleasant.
She looked to her left, and there was Postage Stamp, already awake.
"Good morning," he said, softly, in an even tone.
"Good morning," Luna said back.
"I'll make breakfast," he said.
"Thank you."
He rolled out of bed, leaving a him-shaped hole in the sheets. Luna let her eyes fall closed again, pulled the quilt up to her neck. Basked in the warmth. Postage Stamp was a mailpony; he had to get up early to make his rounds. Luna had gradually become a morning pony to match him, even though it had taken some doing. She'd relinquished her duties as the protector of dreams to another years ago.
Soon, the scrapings of a pan could be heard down below. But quiet, trying not to make too much noise. Luna smiled a small little smile.
Eventually, she tired of the bed. Stretching her long limbs, she let out a soft yawn. Her horn lit, and the covers were pulled back. Cold air rushed in. It was refreshing, rather than uncomfortable; Luna had always preferred the cold. Slowly, she got out of bed, her hooves clacking as they hit the wooden floor.
Stretching her legs, she walked over to the window and took a peek outside. Snow piled up on the windowsill, outside the glass, and beyond it was more white. It was winter in Whinnyapolis alright. Luna didn't mind; she liked it here. She liked the snow. And the ponies, who had always been so kind to her, even if she thought their accents were a little silly.
And it was where she'd met him.
Smiling, Luna headed out of the bedroom and down the stairs. They were carpeted, and her hooffalls were quiet. Pictures followed her down, pictures of her, and her sister, and her husband, and sometimes all three. Luna had taken some of them herself; she'd dabbled in photography, for a little while, before her interests had turned elsewhere. One of many arts she'd tried her hoof at, since Twilight Sparkle had taken over the throne. She liked photography. It was a way of preserving precious things, if only as a memory.
Past the bottom of the stairs, now, and into the kitchen. It wasn't a very elaborate kitchen, or a very big one; Luna could have bought them a bigger house if she'd wanted to, and she'd thought about it on occasion, but she'd come to like this one. It was cozy.
Postage Stamp was at the stove, cooking eggs in a frying pan over the heat. He smiled at her as she came in, and she smiled back as she walked past and sat down at the table, grabbing the morning paper that was sitting at her place and unfurling it.
The headlines were grim.
"Any good news?" Postage Stamp asked.
"Sometimes," Luna replied.
She continued to flip through the pages. The toaster popped. She set the paper down.
Postage Stamp came over, two plates held in his magic, and set one in front of Luna. The other he set in his own place as he sat down. Luna looked at hers: one over-easy egg on toast. Her favourite breakfast, now that she'd come to know the joys of a warm breakfast on a cold winter morning. She levitated up a knife and fork and dug in slowly, her partner doing the same. The egg yolk spilled out over the toast. They ate in comfortable silence.
Eventually, Luna set her knife and fork down on a clean plate.
"Were the eggs okay?" Postage Stamp asked.
"As they always are."
He smiled, went back to eating his. Soon, they were both done.
He glanced at the clock on the shelf over the table, nestled in beside other knick-knacks and tchotchkes. "I'd better get going," he said. He stood up.
"Wear your big coat," Luna said. "It's cold today."
"I will."
He levitated the plates into the sink, then headed out of the room to get his bag and coat. Luna stood up too, and followed him. He was just putting on his big fur-lined coat when she left the kitchen; she stepped over and helped him with the buttons, then wrapped a scarf around his neck for good measure.
The front door opened, revealing a sea of white.
"Stay warm," Luna said. "I'll see you when you get back."
He nodded. Smiled. Then, he was off.
Luna shut the door behind him.
"How's Postage Stamp doing?" Celestia asked, holding her youngest daughter in her hooves. Little Sunbeam looked up at her mother with the curious eyes of an infant.
"He's doing fine," Luna said to her sister. They were in Celestia's home, a mansion in Canterlot (Celestia hadn't wanted to move too far away from the capitol). "They're overworking him at the post office, but he keeps insisting it's not a problem."
Just then, Celestia's son, Sunspot, ran by, in the process of being chased by her eldest daughter, who was only four years old.
"Be nice to your brother, Dawnbringer!" Celestia said as they passed.
"I am!"
Celestia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
"Your children are as lively as ever, sister," Luna said, also smiling.
"They're just happy to see their favourite aunt," Celestia replied.
"That has nothing to do with it, I'm sure. How's Eastern Horizon?"
Celestia's smile grew wider. "Wonderful, as always. Why, just last week he got me flowers. Roses! For no reason! He just came home with them. Isn't that sweet?"
"You always were a romantic, sister."
Celestia pouted. "What's that supposed to mean? At least I didn't marry some boring old mailpony."
Now it was Luna's turn to roll her eyes. "This again?"
"I know I've said it a thousand times, but I just don't get what you see in him."
"We have an understanding," Luna said. "Not every love has to be constant vacations and gifts and roses."
"That's what you always say."
Luna gave her a sly smile. "And I'll keep saying it until you stop."